We have accepted the challenge to write 365 short stories in 365 days. Can we do it?

Friday, October 26, 2007

THE LURKER in 42ND

Shiny spikes cover the wall and ceiling of the metal room. "Okay, great," The Lurker thinks, lighting a cigarette. "Could be worse, I suppose." The spiky walls begin to close in with a mechanical whirring sound. The ceiling starts ascending. "Right," he says out loud, pulling his turquoise mask off as sweat drips from his forehead. "Light, light, light, light! Where’s the light coming from?" He scans the retreating ceiling and finds a small set of fluorescents. "Wanamingo!" Lurker quickly climbs the spike up to the ceiling, punches out the light, removes it and hurls himself up into the hole. As he gets up, he hears the room below him slam shut with a metallic crunch. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and examines it. "Still got it, kid," he bemuses. Gears and motors suddenly move above him. He glances up and spies three automated laser rifles getting a bead on him. "C’mon, man," he yells. He flicks the cigarette butt after a long drag. One of the rifles zaps it out of the air. He tosses his mask at that particular gun, covering its motion sensor and takes out the other two with his batons. A door slides open from the wall. Lurker lights another cigarette and is immediately swarmed by hooded henchmen as he enters the next room. After punching two, sending them to the floor, he doubles back into the laser room as the henchmen follow. He grabs his batons from the floor, tosses one up and knocks his mask off the motion sensor. One barrel roll out of the room later, he closes the door behind him as he hears the shreiking of henchmen being fried to bits. The cigarette dangles from his lip as a large rumble shakes him from the soles of his feet. He scans the room. Ceiling? Walls? No. He crouches with a baton in one hand. "C’mon! What? What?" he boasts. "Bring that shit!" The wall in front of him begins to lower, revealing 30 members of the superhero community, all in full, garish costume. Daedelus, in the center of them, dressed in charcoal gray garb, holds a cake with candles and the number "42" on it. "Happy 42nd, Lurker," they shout in unison. The Lurker stands upright and stamps out his cigarette. "You fucking guys," he shouts up with a smile. "This was all for me?" The superheroes on the screen all laugh and nod. "They made me hold the cake," Daedelus mutters, begrudgingly. Lurker begins to bend over with laughter as the last of the henchmen are being dissected by lasers in the next room.